


Camp Elvhenan

by littleblue_eyedbird



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Innocent Physical Contact, F/M, Fluff, Innocent Physical Contact, Solas and Lavellan are camp counselors, Summer Camp AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblue_eyedbird/pseuds/littleblue_eyedbird
Summary: Camp Elvhenan was a highly popular sleep away summer camp located in the domesticated part of the Emerald Graves, set in the very heart of Elven ruins. It offered its young, open-minded campers a chance at studying various trades and ancient history while building elite class survival skills. Though perhaps the greatest aspect to be gained by attending was the foundation for new alliances, friendships, and comradery among its participants.





	Camp Elvhenan

Camp Elvhenan was a highly popular sleep away summer camp located in the domesticated part of the Emerald Graves, set in the very heart of Elven ruins. It offered its young, open-minded campers a chance at studying various trades and ancient history while building elite class survival skills. Though perhaps the greatest aspect to be gained by attending was the foundation for new alliances, friendships, and comradery among its participants. 

The camp wasn’t only just for elven children, though it was mostly comprised of them. The offspring of surface dwarves could be found tinkering about in the geoengineering cabins at twilight or the Cabins of the Forge, while humans gravitated towards the sparring rings with the Tal-Vashoth kids. Not to say dwarves didn’t spar, as they did, or that humans were not interested in the mechanisms of geothermal heating, as there were several that burned many a candle down to its wick bent over a gear and tool. Elven children too, flitted about the various opportunities the camp provided, eager to seek any opportunity outside the life of their clan or alienage. The most sought after house across all the races however, were the Cabins of the Arcane. 

It was headed by tall, bald elven man who appeared, outwardly, stiff, reserved, and no-nonsense with a lecture ready for any turn of event. The Old Wolf, his nickname always seemed to find even the newest of campers ears before he had a chance to dispel it. This disparaged a few of the campers from vying to be members of its Cabin, but for those who showed true dedication, it was the most rewarding experience. For the man transformed, humor danced behind his ancient eyes, with pranks and tricks up his sleeves (though the uniforms were short sleeved), and secrets to be shared with only the loyalist of those in his care. They followed him around like a pack of wolves, trailing about with endless questions, debate worthy ideas, and a thirst for knowledge they knew they would get nowhere else. 

To him, it was endearing but tiring. He rarely got a moment to himself. Some of his pups, as the other counselors teased, would go so far as to track him down while eating, using the lavatory, or meditating. They knew better than to disturb him while he was sleeping. No one dared wake him if they caught him with his eyes shut. There was rumor that he had eyes on the back of his head, and the sides so that even if one toe was stepped out of line, he would know about it. 

Even in the most deep of sleep.

The other counselors got along with him just fine, maybe a few thought of him as odd. They’d roll their eyes while he went off on tangents about the lore of the valley the camp was set in, telling him to save it for the first years. While others embraced it more earnestly, like the Huntress. 

She was head of the Cabin of the Hunt, the one who lead the bravest of the campers on expeditions outside the camp grounds, where true survival skills were put to the test. She was also one of the Healers for Camp Elvhenan, so all the campers got to know her at some point or another when one of their shenanigans took a turn for the worst. The only lecture she’d ever give was on the necessity of knowing basic medical skills in the field--where the most dangerous game they would encounter would be themselves if they failed to follow their instincts or take care of themselves.

There were rumors among the campers the Old Wolf and the Huntress were friends, and thought what an odd alliance, a hunter and a wolf. One would think they should be natural enemies. But that was not the case, at least within this realm. Often they could be found taking Rounds together at night, making sure every camper was squared away safe and sound in their cabin, and not sneaking off to make mischief in the night.  If one rose earlier enough, they would be spotted at dawn in the Mess, sipping tea (the Huntress) and coffee (the wolf) over a game of chess. A battle of wits that always attracted a few of the early rising pups and hunters to watch. 

Naturally, the two Cabins developed a rivalry, despite the comradery of their Cabin Heads, always wanted to prove to their leader they were the best Cabin at the Camp at the End of Summer Games. Though the Old Wolf would never outwardly say it, his pride was less easily concealed for his campers. And if anyone were to overthrow the reign of the Wolves, the Huntress and her hunters were as great of a match as any. 

Just as she was a great of match for the Wolf himself. 

“You would think, after how many years this place has been running, we would have found a better way to store Kayaks,” the Huntress muttered, loosening a knot of a net that kept six Kayaks suspended in the air in one of the storage buildings by the lake. 

The Wolf lounged in the doorway, watching her.

There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver in the cramped unit, so he had to wait until she moved further back before entering, and easing the Kayaks down. 

“If we did not keep them out of reach, how many campers--would you guess-- would have the foolish idea to steal one and paddle across the lake for a midnight swim, Anise?”

The Huntress, Anise, made a disgusted noise. “Too many.”

“And who do you think, would be paddling out to rescue and resuscitate--”

“I concede your point, Solas” she said, making sure he saw her roll her eyes in mirth before moving to the middle knot. 

She would never admit it, but she enjoyed his teasing. And their walks. And their chess games. And their late night conversations. Perhaps a little more than was appropriate for a professional setting. The knot she was working at did not need much tugging, and seemed to unravel on its own. There was not enough time for the Huntress to worry before the Wolf cried out.

The crashing of heavy plastic and metal clattering on the concrete filled her ears and swam before her eyes in a cascade of colors. She had barely registered the arm that had snuck around her waist and yanked her back into the safety of a solid, warm body. Her breaths came in sharp as she processed she was nearly clobbered. 

When she did come to--mere seconds seemed like eons--she realized she was gripping the Wolf’s button down Camp Uniform shirt in a death clasp, unknowingly clutching onto him like a lifeline, as if she were the one stranded in the middle of the lake. His arm was still bracing her in place, his hand at the small of her back in protective gesture. She noted he had turned so that he more of himself was turned towards the clutter as if to take most of the blow if it had came to that. 

“Are--are you alright?” 

She glanced up and had to swallow down a lump that had formed in her throat. Steel blue eyes stared down at her full of worry, and a hint of shock. His face was  _ awfully _ close, and that seemed to be the only thing she could think about, for her mind stopped working and words stopped forming. She became fixated on his nose, and for the first time she noticed he had freckles.  _ Freckles.  _ She then became keenly aware that she was leaning on him, chest to chest with a hand over his sternum. 

“I--I’m,” she said, pulling back, realizing she needed space or she very well might explode if she spent more more second pressed against him. Instead, her back bit into the metal door, creating another loud bang making her flinch. His arm stayed poised in midair between them. “I’m fine,” she managed once her words returned to her, tucking an errant strand that had fallen loose from her braid behind her ear. 

“Did you--are you hurt?” She asked after a beat, realizing they were just staring at each other in some kind of dumbstruck awe.

“No, no, I was far enough away,” he averted his eyes, a steady hue of pink darkening on his freckled cheeks. He gestured to the third not in the front, drawing her attention away from the tips of his ears that were now also beginning to tint, “I saw the knot come loose the moment you finished the second. I acted on instinct, I didn’t meant for--I mean, I--”

“I understand,” she rushed him, tugging on the end of her braid before tossing it over her shoulder, “and I’m grateful. I would take being whisked into your arms any day over buried under a ton of kayaks.”

It was her turn for her face to flare as she realized she said her thoughts out loud before censoring them. The Old Wolf looked thrown off, as if he too had been caught swimming in the lake when he shouldn’t have.

“Well I’m going to get Dorian to help clean this up as punishment for not securing them better. Bye.”

She spun on her heel and marched herself right out of the storage unit, down the hill, and past five of her hunters (who whispered secretively to each other in her direction) on her walk of shame, face burning, and did not look back.

For if she did, she might have turned around right back into his arms.


End file.
